


Last High

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Addiction, Community: weissvsaiyuki, Drug Addiction, Implied Violence, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The present's a blur for Brad Crawford, but the future is coming.</p><p>From the prompt: Schuldig rescues <i>Crawford</i> out of drug addiction/poverty/prostitution.</p><p>Thanks to CaptainBlue for betaing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last High

When he was a kid he'd heard people talking about junkies. Idiots, thugs, dumb kids throwing their life away for some cheap high. "Why would anyone do that?"

Had he already felt it then? The prick of the needle in his skin, the first rush? Had he already known exactly why?

The high wasn't much. People talked about it like seeing the face of God or some bullshit. Brad Crawford didn't believe in God, and if he did, he sure as fuck wouldn't expect to see him in a cheap motel room where even the bleach couldn't cover up the smell of piss.

The thing was, if he shot up enough, it dulled the visions. That was all that mattered, all he wanted, all he _needed._ Would it get him sick? Get him dead? No? Well, then, fuck that, bring the euphoria. Bring the oblivion. A break from listening to men he already knew would be dead before New Year’s. Nick was an asshole but he never ran out of H and that was all Crawford cared about. He didn't need to see Nick in that alley, over and over again, half his face gone to the gunshot. He didn't need to see the rats.

He shot up enough shit, he saw Nick alive, normal, screaming bullshit at him for no fucking reason other than he thought that's how pimps and dealers were supposed to act. He could ignore what was getting closer, pretend he couldn't smell blood half the time he looked at Nick.

"You're getting expensive," Nick said, as Crawford put his head back against the motel room wall and breathed, letting it kick in, feeling the future pull back. Not enough, never enough, but he could handle it now, the kaleidoscope of possibilities moving more slowly. "You've gotta step up your game, bitch."

"What do you have in mind?" There was something about using proper grammar in front of Nick that always pissed him off. It was one of the few pleasures Crawford had left. "Perhaps we should institute a reservation system?"

"You ain't fancy enough for that," Nick said. "And you're gettin' old. I dunno, you're the whore, you figure it out. But you're using as much as you're making."

Something flickered in through Crawford's mental fog. Oh, Nick again, what was left of Nick. "I don't think you'll need to worry about that," he murmured.

"You're not fuckin' ODing on me, are you?"

Crawford just shook his head. Nick grabbed the sleeve of Crawford’s nylon jacket to haul him closer, slapped his face with his free hand. It didn't even hurt. Huh. For a second, Crawford wondered if he _was_ OD'ing. But he couldn't be. He'd know.

"Goddamn it, you bitch--"

There was a knock at the door. Oh. That was. That was it. Crawford wanted to laugh. He tried to stop himself but a giggle came out anyway.

Nick threw him into the bed. Hmm. There were bugs in the mattress. Lice? Bedbugs? Fleas? Whatever they were, they bit. Crawford slumped off the bed as Nick got the door.

Low voices. Red hair. Red, red, red. The drugs pushed the visions back but they didn't, wouldn't, kill them. Nothing would but taking a gun to his head, and he didn't want that. Not now.  


Red hair.

He'd seen that.

"Gonna kill you," Crawford said from the floor. Did Nick hear him? Not like it mattered.

"He's pretty," the voice said from the door. Accent. German? No. Fucking German, that was...what was that movie? Ilsa, She-Bear of the SS? Wolf? Wolf. A fucking wolf of the SS. He started laughing then, no way to hold back.

"You sure you want this one? He's fucking crazy."

"I like crazy," the voice said. "Get the fuck out. I want half an hour."

Money. He wanted the room. That was more money. Crawford would make back--

But no. No more money after tonight. Not like this.

 _There you are,_ a voice said in his head. _You're really good, Crawford. You're high as a fucking kite and you still know I'm your ride home._

He shook his head, like that would take the voices back, make anything better.

"Timer starts now," Nick said. Crawford heard the door slam.

The German laughed too. "I like you," he said. "You've got potential."

Things were changing, the world wheeling around his mind too quickly for his dulled senses. "What--"

"It's okay, baby," the man said. "We're going to make a few changes." His hands were on Crawford's body, pushing and pulling him into a sitting position. He squatted down next to Crawford so they were face to face. "You're lucky," he said. "I'm really fucking good at this. I can't make you sober and I can't fix you, but--"

It felt like something--

He tried to push the German away. _Schuldig,_ the voice told him. _Call me that. Not out loud._

_Why?_

_How much shit have you shot up in the past six months? You're...shit, older than me, your powers must have come late..._

_No. Always had them. They just..._ Too much, too fast, impossible to manage or push away.

Schuldig put his head on one side and looked at him, right into his face. No one had done that in forever. His eyes were blue, like the sky on a cold day. "There," he said. "That's better."

The fog was...still there, but different. His senses were still dull, slowed, but he wasn't-- "What did you do?"

_Not out loud. I made some changes. I can't hold you like this for very long, but it's enough to get you out of here._

_I don't want to leave._

_You're sucking dick for money in the shittiest motel room I've ever seen,_ Schuldig said. _You want to leave. You're just afraid of what happens to your head if you do._

"So what happens?" Crawford stared back, as defiant as he could manage.

_There's a school. Rosenkreuz. You're not too old, not quite. They'll train you. No more shit in your arm._

_Not my arm--_

_Point fucking stands. You'll be clean and sober and you'll carry a gun and you'll be the hottest fucking shit on the planet. Or you can stay here and watch the rats eat your veins._

_Do I really have a choice?_

The blue eyes flickered. _Probably not. I'd probably have to kill you._

_Do you think you can? You just fixed me._

For a moment Schuldig looked shocked, then delighted. He laughed again, throwing his head back. _Not for long. Come on, come with me if you want to live. This place reeks and I want to know how you clean up._

_I'll get sick when I come down. You gonna shoot me when I puke on your shoes?_

_Don't worry, we've got professionals for you to puke on._ He stood back up. _Let's get out of here, I can't hold this for long._

"Nick," Crawford said. He was in the alley, smoking a cigarette. This was when--"You don't have to kill him," Crawford said. He'd been an asshole, but he still didn't want to see it. Didn't want to see the rats, working on their meal.

"No," Schuldig said, "but he wants to sell you tomorrow morning to a bunch of idiots who think they can make a snuff film. So I _want_ to."

"How do you--you can't know that."

 _Of course I can. You think all I can do is talk? I know what he's thinking. I know what he wants. You're right, I don't have to kill him. But it's going to be fun._ He held out his hand. "Can you walk?"

"I..." He let Schuldig pull him up. He was unsteady, but he could walk.

Schuldig pulled his gun out of his jacket. "Good," he said. "Let's go."


End file.
